The Frog's Fault
by OddLittleBrit
Summary: Modern day FACE AU - America doesn't like the Frog invading his life, and certainly not how much it's changing his family. Not even Scotland can help. mpreg if you want, explained more inside


**DISCLAIMER: Hetalia isn't mine :3**

**AN: This is almost an mpreg, depending on how you see it - I don't refer to England's gender, so pick what you prefer. I am sorry to anyone who loves France xD Honestly, I love him... America not so much it seems?**

**Names, Allistor/Al - Scotland. Apologies trying to use Scottish verbal thingys... xD tics? I dunno, but onwards!**

* * *

It's all the Frog's fault, Alfred thinks. England still calls him Frog sometimes, but it's a term of endearment now, a cute nickname. Alfred spits it out with as much hatred as he can muster - surprisingly a lot for someone so small. Alfred hates that damn French... Thing, passionately. This is all his fault.

It's the Frog's fault that England started staying out later, even on week days. It was the Frog's fault England was forcing Alfred out too, and the Frog's fault England fell in love. Now it was the Frog's fault England was sick in the mornings, it was the Frog's fault they were getting married, and the Frog's fault Alfred was getting-

"-a brother!" England had said with a grin, a photograph clutched between eager fingers. Alfred had frowned, trying to work it out. He should be happy, right? England was happy, so he should smile for England. But... What if England didn't want him anymore?! The baby... It would be England and the Frog's child. Alfred... America was under England's rule sure, but he wasn't England's son, not /really/.

He confronted the Brit about it, a few weeks later. He waited till the Frog was gone, and then padded up to the Brit. Emerald eyes were warm as England's face split into a smile for Alfred over a book.

"Alfred, what is it, poppet?" Alfred fiddled with his sleeve, eyes somehow pulled towards the small sign of new life in the Brit. He shook his head, facing his guardian.

"Y-You... You love me, right England?" he said quietly, and England looked shocked.

"Of course I do Alfred! Whatever makes you ask?" an outstretched hand invited him to join England on the sofa, and Alfred wriggled close.

"It's just... Well, the baby... He's your son... I-I'm just... I'm nobody. I'm not your baby... Or brother... Who am I?" the question set off the floodgates, and suddenly all his feelings were spilling over. Tears began to pool in his eyes, until a gentle hand wiped them away.

"Alfred... No matter our blood relation, you are a son to me. I love you; my little America."

"B-but will you still want me?! The baby will really be yours! I'm no one's!"

"Alfred, don't be daft, you're not being replaced! I love you as much as my own child - it makes no difference who's you are," England smiled softly, scooping Alfred onto an empty lap. There was a small pause, while Alfred calmed himself.

England smiled as Alfred wiped his eyes. "It's like Scotland and I - he's my brother, both by blood and as a nation, but we don't always get along, do we?" Alfred had remembered the fights he'd seen between the two British nations and nodded. "But sometimes you get along." England nodded.

"True, but while we're blood relatives, we fight like cats and dogs. We're not related like that, are we? Yet we get along like a house on fire. So does being my biological son make any difference to how much I love you? No." England kissed his forehead. "Better?" Alfred nodded, his mouth turning up into the beginnings of a smile. He still wasn't entirely sure of this situation, but maybe if England knew it would be okay...

* * *

But it was still the Frog's fault. He arrived home a few hours later, Alfred heard him coo at England from his bedroom. Alfred had been drawing - today, rockets. He had always loved the stars; one day, he would take England to go see them. He had it all planned out, and England was often presented with detailed illustrations of said plans. Detailed pictures of what their ship would look like, the planets they'd visit and aliens they'd meet. The latest half finished drawing currently sat in front of him and he stared at it dejectedly. The Frog had ruined his picture too. Not only had his arrival thrown him off his stride, but his drawing didn't look right now. Rockets, as everyone knew, only had so much space. The Frog couldn't possibly fit, not that Alfred wanted him there, but Alfred couldn't exactly leave the baby out could he? And the baby had to have his dad, he supposed, so that meant the Frog should come along too. It was hard, trying to fit them all in the picture.

He was sitting, crayon in hand when the Frog walked in. Without knocking, as per usual.

"Alfred?" Alfred's back stiffened, but he didn't turn.

"Alfred," he repeated, sighing. Alfred wouldn't give him the satisfaction of listening to him; and certainly not if he called him that. Only England called him Alfred. The Frog could call him America. Alfred began colouring furiously.

"AMERICA! For the last time, will you just listen to me?! Get over 'ere, NOW!" Slowly, Alfred turned around, glaring at the blonde in the doorway.

"What?"

"Don't be rude Alfred-"

"Shut up. What do you want?"

The Frog's lips set into a thin line and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Angleterre 'as an 'ospital appointment, remember? You're coming too, so get your shoes on."

Alfred pouted; "No." The look the Frog gave him was one of pure anger, and an argument would surely have commenced had England not taken the moment to arrive.

"Alfred? Come on love, we need to get going." By now England was bigger, the new arrival more noticeable. Alfred whined as he trudged over to the door.

"I don't want to go. Can I stay here, I'm a big boy! I don't wan' toooooo..." England's eyebrows furrowed, hands poking at an aching back.

"Alfred, please; I haven't the time nor patience for a fight. The only other option you have is seeing if Scotland will watch you for a bit, hmm?"

Alfred pondered it as he slowly pulled on his shoes. He wasn't too fond of Scotland; the red haired man scared him a little to be honest. He wasn't horrible just... Not England. Then again, even the odd Scot was better than the French monster...

"I'll go to Scotland's!" he said, and England's eyes widened.

"Oh... Okay, if you'd rather... I'll see if he's free."

A phone call and a car drive later and Alfred was standing at the door of another Kirkland manor. After a few knocks, the door swing open, and Alfred looked up to find a rather tall Scot looming over him. England , beside him, smiled somewhat tersely.

"Thanks for this Al, I owe you one."

"Eh, any time... Little guy ain't too bad, are ye? Anyways, looks like you'll be needin' it more too," he added, eyeing England's figure. It got a small chuckle from the smaller Brit. Alfred stood between the siblings, torn. Half of him wanted to cling to England and ask to be taken too, the other wanting to get as far away from anything Frog-related. Before he could make any choice though, England had turned back to the car and was sliding in next to the Frenchman. He smiled out the window as England got in, and called.

"L'Ecosse, you are a lifesaver!" Alfred watched the car pull away, and then looked back to his uncle. Scotland looked back down at him, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Well... What d'ya want to do?" Alfred shrugged and Scotland shook his head. Pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket, he nodded towards another door.

"Tell ye what; go sit in the living room, put the TV on or summin'. I'll be in a minute or so and we'll find something for you to do, yeah?" At this, Alfred actually cracked a grin. Maybe Scotland wasn't so bad after all.

Half an hour later, Alfred was lying on Scotland's living room floor, amongst piles of books and paper, while the older nation watched over his novel. Alfred was drawing from the stories Scotland had found him, but he seemed to have slowed down.

"Freddie? What's the matter?" Alfred took a few seconds to realise Scotland was speaking to him, making the Scot wonder more.

"Oh, yeah, sure - I'm fine..." Scotland raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, okay, sure lad. Really, what's bugging ye?" Alfred said nothing. Scotland placed his book on the table, crouching down to Alfred's height. He could see the doodles on the page he had done. Alfred had filled a page with dragons, one of super heroes and there was one very detailed image of Never Land. Scotland looked over the latest page, which had some very unmistakable doodles of England, even some of the red-haired nation himself (which sparked a smile from the usually aloof nation), yet he noted the distinct lack of France. The puzzle suddenly came together.

"... Alfred? You worried about the baby?" Still nothing.

"C'mon... It's not too bad, honestly. Trust me, I'm one o' five, remember?" Alfred looked up, and Scotland was a little more than shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"But you're all related... And I'll be so much older. That Frog, he ruined it all!"

"Ruined what?"

"Everything! Me and England were FINE until he came along. He ruined it all," he said, the decibels increasing as he spoke. With a loud snap, the pencil in his hand fell to pieces - making both of them jump. He looked forlornly at the shards of wood, lip trembling.

"Ah... S-Scotland, I'm s-sorry! I didn't m-mean to s-s-"

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, trying to calm the boy. It was no use though, he was now sobbing helplessly. Scotland had a feeling the pencil was the least of the young nation's worries. Reaching out a hand, he brought Alfred closer and held him until he calmed. Scotland lifted America in his strong arms and took him into the kitchen, fixing them both mugs of boiling tea while Alfred dried his eyes. They sat side by side on the sofa with their drinks, chatting until England came back. Alfred looked up with wide eyes as they heard gravel crunch and Scotland tapped his nose secretively. "I won't say if you don't?" Alfred swung his arms around Scotland's neck, giving him a bear hug before heading for the door.

"Jus' remember lad, ye can always stay here if it gets too hectic..." he had said with a smile.

* * *

Now it was really the Frog's fault. Leading up till now, it had been him, and even to the end, it was him.

Time seemed to pass in an odd flow for Alfred - the kind when you know something is coming, as much as you wish it wouldn't. Each time he woke up he realised another day had finished. It was awfully weird.

While it felt like only days, months passed in the Kirkland-Bonnefoy-Jones household. The wedding came and went, as did some birthdays and celebrations. Then one day, Alfred came downstairs to find... Well nothing. England was usually up earlier than him, and it seemed odd that the Brit would suddenly decide to start sleeping late. He wandered the ground floor for a while, before heading back upstairs. Where was England? The hero needed his breakfast!

He found the Briton, still curled up asleep in bed, theFrenchman having left for a meeting earlier. Shuffling over, he poked at his guardian's face. Bushy eyebrows furrowed together and slowly, two emerald eyes cracked open:

"What?" came the rather snappy reply, before England seemed to realise who it was. Alfred watched England slowly wriggle upright, yawning and... grimacing?

"Ah, Alfred, what time is it?"

Alfred glanced at the digital clock that sat on the shelf as England massaged a tender stomach. "Half past nine."

"Bloody hell, I overslept? That's odd..." England looked surprised, but smiled nonetheless. "Mmm, suppose you need food mister?"

Alfred giggled, " Yup! Can we have pancakes?!" England chuckled, and it made Alfred grin too.

"Sure, if that's what you'd like - give me a minute or two to get up first though, yeah?" Alfred grinned, bounding off downstairs. He sat happily in front if the TV, waiting for England to waddle in, breakfast in hand or for the smoke to hit his nostrils, whichever happened first. Yet he waited and nothing happened. He glanced at the clock; it's been ten minutes already. He walked back out to the stairs to find the Brit struggling down them.

"England? Are you okay?" he asks, worried. The grimace on his guardian's face is enough to spook him already.

"Y-Yes. I'm okay - but- ah!" The Brit continues through gritted teeth. "Would you be a dear, and grab the phone please Alfie? Call Francis, the number's saved - tell him to hurry back."

He quickly does as he's told - as much as he dislikes the Frog, England obviously needs him. He spoke quickly, hanging up on the man as soon as he can. England in that time, had made it to the sofa, and sat head in hands, groaning softly.

"Sorry Alfred, no pancakes yet, I'm afraid... Uh, can you pass the phone - you're going to have to stay with Scotland again..."

"Wh-Why...?" he asked, handing the device to England, who pulled another face as he punched in the number.

"The baby, Alfred. I have to go to-Scotland? Can you watch Alfred for a while? ... Y-Yeah... I have, thanks... Okay then, bye."

The conversation was over in a matter of seconds, and England turned to Alfred.

"Go pack a bag poppet, pyjamas and some toys, then come back down," he explained, and Alfred hurriedly did as he was told. He shoved his things into one of his bags, and met England at the front door. He could already hear a car pulling onto the drive, and as England opened the door, another car pulled up too. Both the Frog and Scotland jumped from their respective cars, the Frog running for his partner.

"Angleterre! You had me worried, are you okay?!" England waved him off, growling at him.

"Just get me to the hospital, alright? Scotland, you're sure you can watch him?" The redhead nodded, placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"Sure; we'll be at my place when you need us. Give us a call, alright?"

With hurried goodbyes, the cars were off in opposite directions, leaving Alfred feeling rather alone.

And still it was the Frog's fault. His fault all this happened in the first place, and all his fault in the end. His fault for speeding to the hospital. His fault for the upturned car.

The Frog's fault that Alfred was more alone than he ever had been before.


End file.
